


Tick Tock

by looseleafsheets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:40:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looseleafsheets/pseuds/looseleafsheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A gay sci fi romance that explores the idea of fate vs. choice." - as described by my creative writing teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tick Tock

**Author's Note:**

> So, first post ever! :)  
> Stole this idea from tumblr. Enjoy.

 

**January 8th, 2058**

Castiel Novak’s life restarted when he was thirty years old. It’d been fourteen years since he’d really felt anything. He’d given up. Until he walked home after a long day of teaching. It was freezing; typical for a January afternoon in New England. His cramped apartment was only blocks from the University, and he quickened his pace to escape the cold sooner. No one noticed when he stopped, his right hand over his heart—as if he were about to pledge allegiance to the flag, an action that had faded into history decades ago. The electrical shock that surged through his chest was felt only by him. It took all of his strength not to collapse and scream. And then, the heat was gone, leaving behind a bone deep exhaustion and a perpetual ticking over his heart.

 

 

_April 14th, 2038_

_Castiel was ten when he interrupted his mother’s science lesson to ask a question. “Mom, what if a MCI is wrong?” His mother peered at him from across the table._

_“What?” Her voice was cold and sharp, and it reminded him of the stainless steel appliances in their kitchen._

_“What if someone’s MCI times out for one person, but they love someone else?” he clarified his question._

_His mother sighed. “Don’t be silly, Castiel. MCIs are never wrong. Don’t ask such silly questions. Besides, you’re much too young to be worrying about an MCI. You have years.” Her answer was blunt and not really an answer at all, which was how she responded to most of his childhood inquiries. “Now, please, focus on your lesson.” Castiel nodded reluctantly, knowing fighting would do nothing._

_“Yes, mother.”_

_“The Mate Chronometer Imprint is a biological clock located on the right side of your chest. The MCI’s main function is to alert you when you have found your mate. As every human is different, the time it takes for the clock to time out will be different for everyone.” His mother’s voice swarmed in his head as she continued the lesson. He gently touched his chest and tried to grasp the concept that this imprint on his skin already knew more about his future than he did. It made his head ache._

**January 8th, 2058**

Castiel stared incredulously at the MCI flashing on his chest. It was changing sporadically, but occasionally it would slow down and steady out. He could feel every tick echoing in his chest. Eventually, he pulled his shirt back over his head and decided the best action was no action. He didn’t want to know. As he walked the four and a half feet to his living area, the tablet on the small table in the middle of the room began buzzing. He picked it up and sat down on the sofa, swiping the ‘accept’ bubble.

“Hello.”

Charlie swung her red hair in response. “Just a second, Cas,” she said as her head disappeared below the screen for a moment, then popped up. “Sorry about that. How are you?”

“I’m well. And you?"

“I am wonderful!” she exclaimed cheerily. “And I have some good news for you.”

“Oh really?” Castiel asked, amused. Charlie’s sunny disposition was contagious, and he often found himself smiling for no reason in her presence.

“Yes. You know how you’ve been complaining about your tiny apartment and how much you need to find something else?” He nodded eagerly. “Well, an old friend of mine moved to the city a few months ago, and he has a huge apartment. He’s looking for a roommate.” Castiel’s face fell.

“Roommates? I don’t think that will work,” he replied.

“Ugh.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “Of course it will. You just have to give the guy a chance.” She glared at him through the screen.

“What’s his name?” he finally asked.

She smiled because she knew she had won. “Dean Winchester. And you’re going to meet him tomorrow. At…?” she trailed off at the end, asking him a question.

“Three. I’ll be out of classes by three.”

“Three it is then! I’ll send you the address and let Dean know. This will be great, Cas. I know it. I’ll talk to you later.” She smiled at him and he swiped the ‘end’ bubble, her face disappearing into a black screen. He sighed and leaned back into the cushions.

“Tomorrow at three,” he announced to the vacant room. Talking to actual people wasn’t exactly his strong suit. With the sudden distraction, he’d almost forgot the MCI steadily ticking against his chest.

 

 

**January 9th, 2058**

Dean Winchester’s apartment was open and warm. At first glance, it was impeccably neat and tidy, but every second look revealed random items left everywhere: an open book lying face down on the end table, a half empty coffee cup adding to the rings on the table, a pair of shoes against the wall by the front entrance, a jacket slung over a chair crookedly pushed under the kitchen table. Normally these small imperfections would eat at Castiel and drive him crazy, but here they seemed familiar. Dean’s home didn’t feel messy or neglected—it felt just the right amount of lived in.

Dean was just like his apartment: open and warm. He smiled often and talked easily. From the moment they met, his welcoming attitude put Jensen at ease. He didn’t notice Castiel’s social awkwardness, and if he did, he overlooked it. Castiel was extremely grateful for that.

Dean was an engineer; he worked for Apple. He understood and tried to explain complex technology that Castiel couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He also volunteered at a public learning center, teaching kids tech skills. On the flipside, Castiel—being a history professor—knew thousands of years of historical facts that amazed Dean. He didn’t have the patience to deal with children and tried to avoid them when possible. They were both single, both hated mushrooms, both had a fascination with real books. Castiel was a morning person; Dean was a night owl. Dean’s parents were dead; Castiel’s parents were all but forgotten. They sat on the couch, talking like old friends and ignoring the flickering images on the screen in front of them. In the hour that passed while they talked, one thing became clear.

“This is serendipity, man.” Dean smiled brightly at Castiel. He couldn’t help but return it.

“Well, it’s certainly good fortune,” Cas replied. “I like the place. And we seem to get along well,” he concluded.

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll bother each other too much,” Dean joked. “Anyway, that spare bedroom is yours if you want it. And if you plan on paying half of the bills.” He winked, then stood. Cas followed him.

“Of course,” he responded.

“We’ll work out all of the details later. Just call me, okay?” Dean asked as they walked towards the door.

“Yes, I will.” Cas held out his hand and Dean shook it. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“See you later.” Dean held the door open for him and closed it softly behind him.

 

**January 26th, 2058**

They fell into a routine. Dean worked every week day except for Friday, when he went to the Learning Center. Cas taught classes Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. He spent Fridays writing the book he would never finish. He unpacked each day when he had time, and Dean helped when he got home.

It was a Saturday, and they had both decided they would finish unpacking everything. They were laughing when Cas reached into a box to pull out one of his many books. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground and they stared at it. It had been years since Cas had seen a single sheet of paper that wasn’t part of a book. He doubted Dean had ever seen one. At least not this close. Cas reached for it, unsure.

“What is it?” Dean asked from across the room. When Cas unfolded it, he was appalled with himself that he’d forgotten. He’d made himself remember for so long, and sitting here laughing with Dean had made him forget.

“A letter,” he finally answered.

“Whoa, like a real letter?” Cas nodded. “From who?”

“From whom,” he automatically corrected.

“Whatever, man.” He could practically hear Dean rolling his eyes.

He coughed, read the letter, lowered it, read it again, and sighed. “From Meg. She was my best friend. She killed herself.”

 

_June 30th, 2044_

_Castiel was sixteen. He sat on his perfectly made bed and put his head in his hands. His eyes moved across the white carpet that blurred into the white walls. He pushed his breath through his nose and tried to focus on the bookshelves that stood against his wall to his left. He glanced at the straight line the spines of the books made before reading the alphabetized titles. Soon, his vision blurred and he couldn’t do it anymore. He fell back on the bed and closed his eyes. The ever present smell of fresh laundry filled his nostrils, suffocating him. He wanted to wreck it all; to tear his perfect, neat, little world into a million pieces. The letter Meg had taken the time to write out on paper was on the floor. He didn’t want to believe it._

**January 26th, 2058**

“Oh.” For once, Dean seemed speechless. “I—I’m sorry, I guess.”

He lowered his eyes. Cas looked up at him. “It was fourteen years ago. I guess I forgot for a little bit.” He looked back down at the letter. It was more of a note than a letter. It only had four sentences that, before today, he could have sworn he memorized.

_'I timed out. You still have over a decade. I just can’t wait for you forever. I love you.'_ The words had once been burned onto the back of his retinas. It was the reason his MCI vanished; the reason he stopped feeling. Meg had gone and taken everything. And now, he had an MCI ticking on his chest, he felt happy, and he had forgotten that Meg killed a part of him when she had killed herself. He couldn’t figure out why things were changing now.

Dean spoke up, yanking him from his thoughts. “It still sucks though.” He made a sympathetic expression, and Cas found himself impressed that anyone could portray such an emotion so plainly on their face.

“Yes. But time heals all wounds. Things are better now.” For once, he meant it. Dean smiled gently at him. “As a matter of fact, I don’t need to keep this.” He folded the letter and put in the trash pile.

“You sure?” Dean asked him hesitantly.

Cas smiled. “Absolutely.” He decided he was too old to carry so much of the past with him.

 

 

**February 22nd, 2058**

Their routine continued. It was Friday, so Cas spent the day trying to defeat writer’s block, and Dean spent the day trying to defeat children’s ignorance. Cas flopped on the couch with his tablet and hoped Dean had been more successful than he. Just as he thought this, he heard the front door open. He knew Dean would slide out of his shoes, walk into the kitchen, throw his jacket on a chair, and get something to eat. Routine. Cas smiled at Dean as he sat down on the couch next to him.

“Hey.” Cas looked up from what he was reading.

“Hello.”

“How was your day?” Dean asked before cramming half a sandwich in his mouth.

“Uneventful and unproductive,” Cas sighed. “Yours?”

“Same as always. Want some?” He asked, offering the other half of his sandwich.

Cas shook his head. “No thank you. How are the children?” he asked as Dean leaned forward to pick up his tablet and turn the TV on.

“Fine. Daniel is going through a cursing phase. His new favorite word is ‘damn’.” Cas chuckled and watched Dean’s profile as he swiped through the different shows.

“I’m glad I decided to teach adults.”

“Ah, but that’s not nearly as much fun.” Dean leaned back and grinned at him.

“No, I suppose not.” They watched TV in silence as Dean finished his sandwich.

“You know, something interesting did happen today,” he spoke up.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Jocelyn asked about her MCI.”

“Really?” Dean nodded. “What did you tell her?” Cas asked.

“I told her what it is and what it does, and if she has any other questions to ask her parents.”

“It sounds like you handled the situation well,” Cas said quietly.

Dean grunted. “She asked me how much time I have,” he stated.

“Did you tell her?” Dean nodded.

“I can’t say no her,” he laughed softly. “She said she was sorry when I told her how much time I have.” Cas hummed in response, afraid to say the wrong thing. “I’ve got a while, man.” Dean glanced up at him. “A long while.”

 

_June 18th, 2044_

_Castiel and Meg lay on their backs in Castiel’s back yard, staring at sky. Meg had been unusually quiet all afternoon. Castiel could feel the tension and decided to try to break it._

_“So, our first female president was elected in 2016. She was part of the democrat party and she served two consecutive terms—“_

_“Why are you giving me a history lesson?”_

_“Why are you not talking?” Castiel shot back._

_Meg sighed. “I don’t have anything to say,” she finally mumbled._

_“Well, that’s never happened before,” he laughed. Meg remained silent. “Come on, just tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded._

_She turned her head to look at him and looked as if she was considering something. Finally she spoke. “Can I ask you something personal?” she asked._

_He nodded. “You can ask me anything.”_

_“I was wondering about you—if I could—uh,” she stuttered and looked away. “Your MCI,” she finally blurted, “How much time do you have?”_

_Castiel’s eyes widened and he sat up. She followed him. “I don’t actually know. I haven’t looked at in a long time.”_

_There was a moment of silence where they just stared at each other. Castiel reached up and grabbed the color of his shirt. He looked down. “I’ve got, uh, about fifteen years,” he finally said._

_“Oh.”_

_“What about you?” he asked._

_“Oh, you know, a few years,” she answered._

_“Oh.”_

_They sat in silence for another moment before she stood up. “I’ve got to go.”_

_Castiel looked up and saw tears in her eyes. He jumped up. “What’s wrong?” He reached for her, but she stepped away._

_“Nothing. I’ll see you around.” She walked over to the fence that separated their yards and opened the gate._

_Castiel watched her go, feeling lost._

**February 22nd, 2058**

Cas sighed. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone,” he paused and took a deep breath. “My friend who killed herself; her name was Meg. I was sixteen and I still had fifteen years on my MCI, but when she died, it vanished; it went with her. And I thought that was it. She was it for me and I had missed my only chance. I thought that for the next fourteen years. Then, one day not too long ago, I was walking home from the University and it restarted. I felt this electrical shock, and then my MCI was talking. It’s been a few months and it’s still going.”

Dean stared at him in shock. Finally, he breathed out a quiet “wow.”

“That’s crazy.” Cas smiled.

“I know. My point is, you shouldn’t dwell on it. Don’t let a little clock ticking control your life. I did, and I spent fourteen years feeling hopeless. Now, I don’t even look at it. I don’t want to know, and I’m not sure I can even trust it. It’s stupid, really.”

Dean laughed, a quiet snort. Cas leaned over and awkwardly patted his knee. Dean covered Cas’s hand with his own and squeezed it gently. “Thanks for telling me.”

Something in Cas’s chest twisted and his skin felt tingly, especially where Dean was touching him. “You’re welcome,” he choked out before extracted his hand. “Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom,” he mumbled and stumbled down the hallway.

The MCI on his chest burned, and when he closed the door, he yanked his shirt off. His MCI was still ticking, but it was down to seconds. Cas gasped at his reflection as he watched the time tick away.

_Three…two…one._

His stomach dropped and his vision turned white. He stumbled back until his back hit the wall and slid down to the floor. He dropped his head to his hands with one thought, one image, one word screaming in his head: “Dean.”

 

 

**May 1st, 2058**

Cas didn’t tell Dean he was in love with him. He knew Dean’s MCI still had years, and he could suddenly understand Meg’s dilemma. It hurt. Now that he knew, the thought of waiting for years for Dean was painful. He couldn’t imagine his life without him and he often worried that Dean’s MCI would time out for someone else. His mate had been Meg, and Meg was gone. In his experience, you didn’t get second chances. The sky was gray; Cas was waiting for the bottom to drop out. Months passed, and their routine continued. They melted into each other’s lives like they’d always been there and everything was normal, for a while.

The sky fell on a Wednesday. Cas came home from his late class, ready to complain about human stupidity. He closed his mouth when he saw Dean slumped against the back of the couch. He dropped everything and ran the short distance.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” he asked as he kneeled beside him.

“Nothing, I just—” he began, but Cas interrupted him.

“Don’t lie to me. Here, let’s get you up.” He wound his arm around Dean and pulled him to his feet before walking around the couch and sitting down. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Dean sighed. “I’m fine now, really.” Cas glared at him. “Okay. I don’t really know what happened. One second I was fine, and the next I wasn’t,” he paused and glanced at Cas. “It felt like what I’d imagine a heart attack would feel like.”

“Really?” Dean nodded. “That’s awful. Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean nodded again, but Cas could see that something was wrong. “Dean. Talk to me.”

Dean shook his head, but began talking. “I think I’m broken,” he confessed.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because…” he trailed off.

“What? Come on, tell me.” Dean remained silent. “Please,” Cas begged. Dean shook his head again, and Cas saw that his eyes were glassy. He grabbed his shoulder and slid a hand up his neck, holding him still. “Look at me.” Dean lifted his eyes to meet Cas’s. “Tell me,” he demanded.

Dean exhaled slowly. “My MCI still has years on it but it’s wrong. And it hurts. I know who I want, but my MCI won’t let me—it’s physically painful for me to even think about the person,” he finally admitted. Cas took a deep breath. He was sure that his stomach was turning inside out right now.

“Really?” Dean stared at him, the determination in his eyes answering Cas’s question.

“Who?”

“You.” Cas stopped breathing. Dean doubled over and gasped. “It’s happening again,” he groaned.

“Oh god, what do I do?” Cas asked, dropping to his knees in front of Dean.

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do. Just, help me to my room?”

Cas nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

After helping Dean back to his room and shutting the door, Cas sat back down on the couch. There had to be something he could do. Something besides leaving, which was all his mind would supply at the moment. That, and a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered, something else. He inhaled and blew the air out through his teeth slowly. He then picked up the tablet he’d been studiously ignoring since he sat down and did something he hadn’t done in nearly eight years. He typed in the name and waited, praying this would work.

“Hello.” His mother’s voice was sharp and cold and reminded him of his sterile childhood. Her face was the same, save for several new wrinkles. She looked wary, and he imagined her expression was reflected on his own face.

“Hello mother.” He paused, unsure of how to ask for her help without sounding weak. Finally he decided her approach would be the best; blunt and straight to the point. “I need your help.” She didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow. He continued. “My MCI restarted. And it timed out. The person it timed out for still has a running MCI—”

“And their MCI is giving them mini heart attacks every time they try to be with you,” she interrupted.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“It’s rare, but it isn’t unheard of.” She paused. “Castiel, I can’t help you.”

“Bullshit! You’re an expert. If anyone can help me, it’s you!” he yelled, then remembered Dean and lowered his voice. “There has got to be something.”

“There isn’t. You can’t change your MCI. It is what it is.”

“Don’t give me that crap. You don’t honestly believe that this all just happens. That some unknown force predetermines how we live our lives or who we spend them with. If Meg had lived, I would have timed out for her, right?” His mother nodded. “But I never loved her. I love Dean. I never would have even met him if Meg hadn’t decided to kill herself. That wasn’t destiny. That was Meg making a choice. None of this—Dean and I—was supposed to happen. Yet, here we are because someone made a choice. And you’re telling me that I can’t change anything because ‘it is what is’. That’s crap, and you know it!” he hissed.

“Castiel—”

“No, you are the smartest person I know. You have to know a way to help him.” He didn’t care about his pride anymore. He’d get on his knees and beg at this point. She sighed.

“Does he know you reciprocate his feelings?” she finally asked.

“What?”

“Because he’ll need to be absolutely certain that you feel the same way he does to agree to this,” she continued, ignoring his question. “Have you told him?”

“No, I don’t think I have,” he answered. He hadn’t had the chance

“Tell him. Then call Dr. Shurley.”

“The therapist you made me go to after Meg died?”

“Yes. He’s not just a therapist, Castiel. He specializes in MCI cases. I originally sent you to him for an evaluation. I thought he’d have to disconnect your MCI before you told me it went away when Meg died. It’s a dangerous procedure and he won’t just do it because you want him to. He’ll want to be certain that it’s necessary, and I can’t promise you that he will do it. This won’t be easy.”

“But it’s possible?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s all I need. Thank you, mother.”

“I’m sorry this is how things worked out for you. I always hoped you were happy wherever you were,” she said quietly.

“Maybe I will be now.”

“I hope so. Good luck.” Cas blinked at the screen as his mother’s face disappeared. He tossed the tablet to the side and ran his hands over his face before pushing himself off the couch. He walked down the hall and tapped on Dean’s door.

“Dean?” he called into the dark room as he opened the door. Dean was on his bed on his back. He turned his head to face Cas standing in the doorway. “Can I come in?” Dean nodded his consent and returned his gaze to the ceiling. Cas walked into the dark room slowly and kneeled at Dean’s bed. “How are you?” he asked gently.

“Fine. I’m just really exhausted.” He turned his head back to Cas. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well, I do live here,” he replied slowly.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, why are you still here? I thought you would have left.”

“Why would I leave?”

“I dropped a pretty big bombshell in there, then I practically had a heart attack. Most people would get the hell out of her after that.”

“I’m not most people, Dean.” He smiled. “So, you meant it? When you said you loved me?” he asked.

“Yes.” Dean looked away when he answered and his cheeks turned red.

“Dean. I love you too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I thought—” Dean’s lips were pressed against his and Dean’s hands were touching him. He fell into the kiss immediately, with no reservations. Then he remembered their predicament and gently pushed Dean away. “Dean stop. You’ll have another attack.

Dean frowned. “Oh yeah. What are we going to do?” he asked miserably, falling back onto his bed.

“We’re going to fix it,” Cas replied. “If you want to.”

“Of course I want to. I want _you_ ,” Dean said seriously, and then Cas had to push him away again.

 

 

**June 3rd, 2058**

Dean had a huge grin on his face that made Cas want to jump through the screen and hug him. Unfortunately, technology wasn’t that advanced yet. He’d have to wait. “Dr. Shurley approved me for the operation. He’s going to do it this Thursday,” he announced excitedly. His smile seemed out of place on his gray face. He’d been getting worse as the weeks passed, which was probably Dr. Shurley’s main motivation for agreeing the surgery. Despite the risks, Cas couldn’t help but be ecstatic. He hadn’t been able to see Dean in person for almost five weeks, and every day had been terrible.

“That’s wonderful news.”

“Three days,” Dean sighed happily. “We’ll get to see each other in three days.”

“I can’t wait,” Cas replied. Then he sighed, because he knew he’d have to disconnect the call. It was best if they didn’t talk often or for long periods of time. “I’ll see you in three days, Dean,” he promised.

Dean smiled sadly. “See you.”

Frowning, Cas disconnected the call and stared at the blank screen.

“He sounds like a nice young man.” Castiel looked up at his mother and set the tablet down. He hadn’t noticed during their previous phone call—probably because he was too focused on Dean—that her age was really beginning to show. She had a deep set wrinkle in her forehead that was probably from frowning and her skin sagged slightly around her neck. She had more gray hair than dark brown and her hands were knobby. Castiel sighed. He’d missed so much.

“He is. He’s wonderful. You’ll love him,” he finally replied. He’d decided to not think about what would happen if things went wrong. Because they wouldn’t. Everything would be fine. He tried to convince himself, but there was still a nervousness eating at him.

“Castiel?” his mother asked. She was staring at him with a concerned expression on her face. “Are you okay? You drifted off there for a moment.” She had set her cup down on the coffee table with the ring stains on it. Castiel wanted to vomit.

“Mom, what if this doesn’t work?” he asked quietly. He hadn’t called his mother ‘mom’ since he was ten years old.

“Oh, Castiel.” She cautiously put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t think like that.” Cas tried to blink back the tears, but it wasn’t working. His mother sighed, tugged him towards her, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. For the first time in his life, he cried on his mother’s shoulder.

“Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t tell dad I cried.” His mother chuckled. “Of course not.”

 

 

**June 7th, 2058**

Cas sat in the waiting room between his mother and Charlie, waiting. It had been hours since they’d taken Dean back, and Cas was beginning to worry. “What time is it?” he asked anxiously.

“It’s almost one in the morning,” Charlie replied sleepily.

His mother took his hand. “Calm down.”

But he couldn’t. He kept imagining all the things that could go wrong, and they all ended with Dean’s lifeless eyes staring at him.

Finally, a little after two, Dr. Shurley appeared in the doorway. His face was expressionless, and so was his voice as he said, “Castiel. Follow me.” Cas shot out of the chair and immediately began following Dr. Shurley down a long, white hallway. He was too nervous to ask questions, and Dr. Shurley didn’t seem eager to answer any either. They reached a door labeled 2865 and Dr. Shurley stopped. “I hope this works, son,” was all he said before opening the door.

Cas walked in slowly, but felt confident knowing that Dean wasn’t dead. He was asleep though. Cas pulled a chair to the side of the bed and took a seat. He looked at Dr. Shurley standing by the door for permission to wake him. He nodded. Cas shook him gently. “Dean, wake up.”

Dean sighed and his eyes fluttered open. He looked around the room for a moment before focusing his gaze on Castiel. “Cas?” he asked groggily.

Cas nodded happily, a smile breaking across his face. “Hello, Dean.” Dean returned his smile and leaned forward reaching for Cas.

He met him halfway and their lips crashed together. Cas sighed in the kiss, all of the tension fading from his body. This was what he’d been waiting for. Dean pulled away, and Cas made a noise in protest, chasing Dean’s lips with his own.

“Cas.” He stopped and locked eyes with Dean. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.” He stopped, waiting for an attack, for some sign that this wasn’t going to be this easy. But nothing came. “Did that hurt?” he asked. Dean laughed, the biggest smile Cas had ever seen gracing his face.

“No. It felt amazing.” And he leaned in again.


End file.
